


MEMORY, ALL ALONE IN THE MOONLIGHT

by Toffi



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: CATS CATS CATS, Chiquitita you and I cry but the sun is still in the sky shining above you, Destiny's Children, Fix-It, Gen, I love them okay, Love Love Peace Peace, Många bäckar små gör en stor å, Olga Foroga (Dallas' Number One Most Dangerous Assassin), The Commission, The Ikea Mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toffi/pseuds/Toffi
Summary: Axel just wants to leave everything behind but the Commission is not done with him yet.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not written by a first-grader. 🤡  
> (I'm already sorry for all the grammar mistakes and the lack of vocabulary and stuff. My English is peak dumbass, but there's this idea in my head how to fix what unfortunately happened to the Swedes 😧)

**MEMORY, ALL ALONE IN THE MOONLIGHT  
**(I can dream of the old days, life was beautiful then)

So, here's the thing:  
  
_Destiny's Children_ is kind of a massive shitshow.  
  
That's a matter of fact and Axel's been completely aware of that fact since he set his first step inside the disgustingly colorful painted bus, heartily welcomed by the scents of sandalwood and oranges and weed and the tiny hands of this very nerv-wrecking Keechie guy on his back; caressingly patting the same spot on his shoulder over and over again before continuing rubbing his back. It doesn't even feel that bad, the touching; it's just that Axel is not used to it.  
  
»You better not touch my ass.« Axel gives Keechie a warning look, and the hand on his back, which has been on its way downwards, suddenly disappears. Touching his shoulder and patting his back is enough to begin with. More than enough, actually.  
»Sorry. Please, feel free to choose a place to sit.« Keechie smiles with a slightly caught expression on his face. That's one weird guy. Axel gets slowly pushed further into the bus, and he really doesn't need to take a closer look around to know that all the circuses around Dallas must have reported their clowns missing by now.  
  
Though these people in here are obviously all clowns, they're wearing almost casual light blue clothes, not so casual flower chains around their necks, and content and peaceful smiles on their faces – owed by whatever the fuck they probably smoke all day. Axel lets out a soft sigh because, actually, he's way too tired to care. Times change; people can wear whatever the bloody hell they'd like to wear and smoke whatever they want to smoke. It's not his business at all – and to be honest: who is he to judge? He just has to take a step in front of a mirror to be reminded that his own appearance is very unusual as well. Considering that this is probably the only thing he has in common with those people, it just makes perfect sense to Axel that none of them seems to get suspicious at the sight of him – and that's definitely something because he and his br–  
  
Axel closes his eyes just for a second to get his thoughts together. There's this hurt all of a sudden again that crawls up his spine; it's not the kind of hurt a knife or a bullet or the smash of a shovel against your head would leave behind – it's something untouchable, something that cannot be removed. It's a hurt that lingers between Axel's rib cage; and quite often this hurt is like an animal, uncontrollable and unpredictable, with no eyes, no ears, just teeth, lurking in the darkest corner inside this cage made of bones. Thoughts and memories keep it alive, those are its prey; so whenever Oscar and Otto are crossing his mind, it's silently approaching from behind, still lurking in the dark until the very end, just to hunt down and feast on the thoughts of his brothers. It always leaves Axel with a heavy weight on his lungs which makes it hard to breathe, and sheer panic in his head. He's scared that one day this animal, this lingering hurt, eventually will devour all the memories he has of his brothers. As if they never really existed.

His legs suddenly start to tremble slightly while his clenched fists inside the pockets of his jacket are tensing up.  
He can't think of Oscar and Otto right now –  
Too many people around.  
  
»It's okay, my friend, just breathe. We all get a little sad sometimes. That's what life is all about, right? The feelings? Here, sit down.«

But only one person notices the change in his posture and his trembling legs.  
_Keechie_ notices. And starts patting his shoulder again.  
Awesome.

Axel gets dragged down on a white cushion, placed on a seat somewhere at one of the inner rows of the bus. Next to him sits a girl, curiously eyeing him from head to toe. Axel can't tell if she's pretty or not, because he's never had a sense for that nor has he ever been interested in such things. Beauty standards? Fuck that. Never heard of that bitch. When he was ten or twelve years old, he beat the shit out of some boys after school. They were calling Otto disgusting names and made fun of him, and Otto had always been the most sensitive of them. So when he finally started crying, these boys told him that they thought it was impossible for him to get even uglier. Axel beat them up until they were the ugly ones. 

He lets out a shaky breath. That's something he doesn't want to think about now. It's just that people simply don't choose how they look and society is a piece of shit for expecting them to look a certain way to be considered pretty.  
The girl winks at him, before she gives him a toothy grin.  
Axel slightly raises his eyebrows. Mostly because he can't categorize the wink.  
Poor girl probably needs to make an appointment with an eye specialist.  
  
»So, what's your name?« Keechie drops onto the seat next to him.  
»Axel.«  
»Nice to meet you, Axel. Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry? Do you need anything?«  
Keechie is _so_ excited. Axel doesn't get it. Is he like that all the time? Must be very exhausting, then.  
»I need you –« Axel starts, but gets interrupted by a surprised gasp. Keechie stares at him, eyes wide open.  
»Well, I'm flattered, but we just met, Axel –« Oh.  
  
No. Stop.  
  
Wrong direction.  
  
There's a blush on Keechie's face rising.  
  
»–to shut up.« Axel can't help but roll his eyes. What's wrong with people these days, god. They'll never change, will they? He feels the sudden urge to go back to Sweden; Västerbotten or Härjedalen or Borhuslän, where he could start living on a farm again, go fishing, leaving the whole world behind for the rest of his life. »I need you to shut up. _Please._ «  
»Er … uhm …« Keechie's confused now. »Sure, just … uh, where were you going?«  
»Back to Dallas. To get the cats.«  
»You're such a lucky man, my friend!« Keechie's face lightens up again. »Because we're on our way back to Dallas.«  
»Coincidence is a wild concept, isn't it.« Axel is really not impressed.

____ 

Axel knows they're are almost there. The road gets bumpy; the pavement is trenched with too many small cracks which then again lead into too many potholes all over the place. The government is obviously doing a terrible job when it comes to deciding how to use taxes. Better developed streets, less nuclear weapons. It's that simple. They should overthink their priorities and redefine them. Axel stretches his back a little while the same looking houses with the same desolate looking front-yards are passing by.  
  
»Hey, can I ask you just one more thing?« Keechie shows up again; apparently he's finished his rounds of chit-chat through the bus. He sits down next to him, a concerned frown on his face. He doesn't expect an answer, so he just goes on: »Is everything okay with your hands? You're hiding them inside your pockets since we picked you up.«  
  
Axel takes a deep breath, then sighs silently. Keechie seems to notice _anything_.  
  
»Have you ever wanted to chop your hands off?« He presses his lips together before they can start to tremble, then he turns his face with a blank expression to Keechie.  
»Uh … no … _no ..._ « Keechie stutters. »Why would you want to do something like that?«

There's this lump in his throat again which makes it hard to speak without a shivering voice. He takes another deep breath.  
The landlady's house is now in sight.

»Because there's nothing in this world that I hate more than my hands.«

Keechie is searching for the right words, obviously, because his mouth drops open but he can't bring himself to say anything.

____

»It's time for our noon prayer! Come on!«  
  
Two minutes later the bus stops near to the landlady's house, and Keechie slowly seems to get back to normal again. The confusion's gone.   
Right now he's gathering his people around him on the street, hands raised to the sky as if he's expecting God to grab one them. Michelangelo would've loved that scenery.

»... oh my God, we're back again!«

Axel is standing in front of the landlady's door and isn't sure if he really wants to see what's going to happen down there in the street or if he should just step inside the house, feed the cats and forget about this whole shitshow. He just has to push down the doorknob, it's just a little move he has to make. Keys have always been an unnecessary thing since he and his brothers would simply destroy the locks of those apartments they needed to live in for an uncertain amount of time. So ….  
  
But then he slowly turns around. It may be a shitshow, but it's still a _show_ , right? Axel is obviously not alone in thinking this way, because some locals are also already sticking their heads out of their windows, curiously watching. The small street is filled with almost thirty people who are trying to form a circle in an uncoordinated approach. It's ridiculous.  
  
»Grab each others hands and hold those hands close to your hearts. Now let us pray what our Prophet once preached, so that our new brother may receive love and peace and peace and love.«

It's getting even more weird when Keechie closes his eyes and the others doing the same, all holding hands now.  
  
»Brothers, sisters, everybody sing! We're gonna bring the flavour, show you how –« The words are not yelled, but they are spoken loud enough to be heard by everyone. This small Keechie guy might be full of surprises.

And then he and his circle of people start with their procedure to call on the holy spirits of whatever the fuck they believe in. It sounds a bit out of tune, a little too slow, and it's more of a speaking choir. At first.

_  
<They say in heaven love comes first,  
we'll make heaven a place on earth.  
**Ooh** , heaven is a place on earth!_

_When I feel alone  
I reach for you  
and you bring me home.  
When I'm lost at sea  
I hear your voice  
and it carries me.>_

Now they are starting to actually _sing_. Over and over again. Axel does not understand; his eyebrows furrow in utter confusion. He's seen a lot of weird shit in his life, but this is probably some of the weirdest.

When their not so holy singing stops, Keechie turns to face Axel while he's putting his hands to his head, forming a triangle with his thumbs and pointing fingers above his forehead.

»We, _Destiny's Children_ , welcome you, friend. May love and peace and the blessing of our Prophet always be with you.«


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter gives me massive anxiety lol.

_Whatever._

Just as Axel's eyebrows almost blend in with his hairline and the disbelief on his face reaches an extent that is no longer maintainable, he decides it's probably best to get inside and thereby get away from all of this. It was nice meeting Keechie to get back to the city much faster than he would have been if he had just walked, but that's it already. Axel doesn't want to join a cult or a circus or whatever these people are supposed to be in.  
  
“Oi, you bloody wankers! Just called the cops – we don't need no bloody Scientologists here, bastards!” A local yells with his face as red as a lobster, hanging way too far over the windowsill with his body and gesticulating gruffly towards the group.  
“Shhhh!” He hears Keechie shush, and with a last look over his shoulder, Axel sees the small guy holding up a finger in an attempt to silence the man before he simply goes ahead: “Glory be to the Prophet eternally. Now that we prayed we shall have a minute's silence for all those who are filled with hatred and anger and bad energy –”  
  
A subtle smile replaces the frown on Axel's face. Appearances can be _so_ deceiving. Keechie would definitely get knocked out if it came to a fight because this man upstairs at the window is twice the size of him. One might even say _beefy_. And Keechie is so small compared to him, with his narrow shoulders and tiny hands and the polite shit he says, and Axel wonders how he gets through life each and every day when he's obviously a lamb among bears.  
  
In the distance a police siren starts blaring, getting closer with every passing second, which startles Axel out of his thoughts. A street full of cops is the last thing he needs right now when there's still a human head in the freezer, so he pushes down the doorknob and gets swallowed by the pleasantly cool, but unfortunately still very musty and dark hallway of the landlady's house. The landlady – actually born, raised and deceased as Priscilla P.– probably spent most of her days with nothing else to do but smoking cigarettes and solving crossword puzzles and collecting cats. When he and his brothers first settled down here a week ago –

Axel stops his thoughts which are already mid-way on taking a path he rather doesn't want to go now.  
A soft, slightly whistled ' _Ksss-ksss-ksss'_ slips over his lips while he's crossing the hallway, eyes focused on the darker spots in the corners and the blurred greyish shadows underneath the furniture.  
“Herr Älskling?” he whispers. “ _Kssss-ksss._ ”  
Axel lifts up some jackets on the coat rack and peeks under the shoe storage on his way to the living room, hoping to find at least one cat. He knows that the kitchen window is still tilted; maybe they've tried to get out and ended up caught in there. “Överste Snorkfröken... ?”  
The police siren's blaring stops outside, the muffled voices of the people in the street get a bit louder.  
  
Just as he's about to cross the living room to get into the kitchen, two purring balls of white fur with black spots raise their heads and blink at him sleepily from the sofa. It's överste Snorkfröken and Mormor, Oscar's favorite cats; but then again, which cat wasn't his favorite? Even though Oscar never actually spoke to them like pet owners usually talked to their pets, they were nuts about him.  
  
Now, shit, here we go again.  
  
The lump in his throat is back for the second time today, and he knows that his situation is getting out of control, obviously. Överste Snorkfröken curls up into a ball again since there's little chance of being petted right now, while Mormor stretches her legs away and rolls over on her back. Axel tries to shut out the white linen the cats are laying on. He really, really tries.  
  
Sadly, many things in life remain an attempt.  
  
Axel's eyes already glance over the roughly weaved fabric, disoriented and a bit lost for a moment, thoughts drifting away again. This is the suit Oscar borrowed from the milkman when they first arrived in Dallas. Poor guy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, all confused when they walked up to him and knocked him off his feet. They didn't mean to kill him, actually. His death was kind of a very unfortunate accident. More or less. Once the actual milkman was unconscious, Otto shoved him into one of the small coolers in the back of the milk truck, limbs all folded up like a piece of paper, and they simply forgot about him. _Tragic_.  
  
Axel stares at the blood stains around the shoulder area, and remembers in a sudden burst of bitterness that Otto wanted to do the laundry just because he couldn't stand the sight of blood on a white suit that didn't even belong to him. That was just minutes before the Commission sent them another message.  
  
If it hadn't been for Axel rushing his brothers to run after this idiot knife guy in the middle of nowhere, Otto would've done the laundry and they would've left the house a bit later. A deer or a huge rabbit or a mushroom picker might could've been the cause for the mine to explode – sometimes a few minutes can make all the difference.

Then Oscar possibly wouldn't have -  
  
He wouldn't have –

Things could have turned out differently.  
Maybe.  
  
“What the...” All of a sudden there's this crushing feeling of rage and despair and sadness and burning eyes. It's just an unpleasant prickle in his eyes at first, like countless little stings all over his retina, before his sight gets blurry and his surroundings turn into dull silhouettes without edges and corners. His pulse starts hammering in his ears, accompanied by the rushing sound of his blood, and heat crawls up to his head, spreading under his skin, while the lump in his throat grows and grows and leaves him almost breathless.

The next few things happen all at once:

Axel gasps for air, trying to get the picture of his brother out of his head. It's not Oscar this time, it's Otto.

Otto who clasps desperately his wrists, fingernails digging into his skin and leaving red bruises.  
Otto who tries to get rid of his hands around his throat, strength slowly leaving his body and eyes rolling back and forth.  
Otto who gasps for air like Axel does right now.  
Otto who is dead while Axel is _not_.  
  
The second Axel decides not to fight the guilt he's drowning in right now, a familiar metallic sound pops up in the kitchen cabinet, while the doorbell rings to make things even worse. He clings to a bookshelf next to him, pinching his closed eyes with his thumb and index finger until flashing dots in white and grey and blue start floating behind his shut lids. Another ringing of the doorbell. Otto's face slowly fades under this mass of dots, and Axel staggers to the door, still trying to get his breathing back to normal.  
  
Actually it's pretty dumb to open a door for a potential cop when you're hiding a frozen head inside your kitchen, but the panic slows his thinking and makes him act irrationally – and to be honest: does it even matter if he gets caught? Is there anything left–

This time the doorbell rings two times in a row. He definitely has to get rid of that head soon. Seriously.  
  
The change of light and the sudden luminosity of the sun struck his eyes as he opens the door, rapidly blinking to identify the silhouette in front of him.  
“Hey, friend.” No cop, just Keechie, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The smile on his face drops immediately when he sees Axel. “What's wrong?”  
“Cat allergy,” Axel snorts, then turning away quickly to get back to the kitchen. Mostly because he doesn't want Keechie to see him like this, hair probably ruffled, eyes watery and panic still written all over his face.  
“Are you sure? Because –”  
“ _Cat allergy_ ,” he repeats harshly. This time, he doesn't even spend the tiniest glance on the suit or on both cats when he stomps through the living room.  
Keechie follows him, mumbling something Axel can't understand.  
“So, this is where you live, huh?”  
“Yes. Any problem with that?” Axel rips the kitchen cabinet open, feeling a little nauseous when he sees the shimmering, well-known bronze tube inside.  
“No, I didn't mean to suggest that,” Keechie stammers, standing completely lost in the middle of the living room.  
  
Axel looks suspiciously at the little address label sticked on the tube.  
His heart sinks.

**THE SWEDE**

  
He really doesn't want to deal with the Commission anymore.  
In fact, he doesn't want to deal with _anyone_ anymore.  
So he just grabs the tube and throws it into the trash, teeth gritted to stop himself from shouting.  
  
“I'm very sorry that you're so sad and angry.” Keechie's shoulders drop as fast as his smile when Axel opened the door just moments before.  
“Are the cops still outside?” he asks, simply passing over Keechie's needless apology. Axel takes a spoon out of the kitchen drawer and taps it against a bowl. The clinking sound attracts almost every cat around – usually.  
“Nah, it was just Francis. He's alone on duty today, so he was in a rush.”  
Överste Snorkfröken sneaks into the kitchen, prowling around his legs with a low purr. Mormor slowly follows her. Axel taps the spoon a second time against the bowl, and Billy Oxberg and herr Älskling with their shaved heads look around the corner, blinking sleepily.  
“He just told us to get back into the bus and leave,” Keechie says, bending down to pet Billy Oxberg. “I've never seen such naked cats before.”  
“They're not _naked_ cats. Just shaved.”  
Keechie doesn't want to know _why,_ presumably scared of the answer _._ He nods and gets up again. “Okay.”  
“Can you drop me at the train station?”, Axel asks, turning all the cats over in his head. Fru Helmi is the only one still missing.  
“What?”  
“Drop me. At the train station.”  
“No,” Keechie says with a sudden confidence in his voice, shoulders lifting.  
And this time it's Axel who doesn't know what to say in return.  
“The train station is closed for today. They found a bomb from Second World War down by the railway and are removing it–”  
Axel stays quiet for a moment, then he raises an eyebrow. “Which year is it again?” If Keechie is talking about a second world war, then there must had been a first world war at any point in history as well, and Axel can't believe that humanity is able to go downhill _that_ fast after hundreds of thousands of years full of evolution.

“1963. You're coming with us, friend. I'm really worried about you.”

___

It's not an actual _church_.  
Axel rolls his eyes, letting the first impression of the mansion sink in. Keechie obviously suffers from a severe loss of reality because this building definitely doesn't make you believe in God but in money and in money alone, and while its design might be impressive to some people, it's just a colossal, grey square with lots of rooms and a chlorine-smelling pond in the backyard to Axel. He's actually pretty fine with living in small houses made of wood and wildly grown gardens, somewhere in the country.  
  
“That's it,” Keechie shrugs, bobbing on his feet. They are back in the entrance hall after a full hour of showing Axel around. “There's still some free space, so you can choose a room yourself. Any questions?”  
“No,” Axel says, walking over to the boxes he transported the cats in. Fru Helmi, pupils as wide and dark as the night, still crouches at the bottom in one of the boxes next to the main door. Axel finally found her on his way to the bus, hiding in the shade of a garbage can.  
  
Just as he's about to close some of the emtpy boxes, a large light-blue poster catches his attention. Artificial flowers are plastered all over the edges.  
“What's that?” Axel asks, staring at it and trying to decipher the messy written letters.

“This is our weekly schedule,” Keechie explains and catches up to Axel, finger hovering above the paper. _“Carpe diem._ The Prophet always wanted us to make the most of our time here on earth's surface, so he gave each day a different theme.” Keechie's already so excited again that Axel feels even more exhausted just by listening to him. He taps at the first word on the poster.  
  
“We start the week with our _Manic-Monday_. We meet in the garden, and then it's like these story telling circles in school … but it's actually more about how we feel and what worries us,” Keechie says, scratching the stubbles above his upper lip. “We check upcoming appointments of the current week and reassign duties. You know, like cooking and gardening and doing the laundry. Usually Seer Helena joins us to tell us about unexpected happenings that might occur during the week. She has a third eye. And a pendulum – you'll love her, I promise. She's a very sweet old lady.”

Well, _shit._ Axel nods.  
  
“ _Tantra-Tuesday_ might be interesting for you, too. Do you know what Tantra is?” Keechie smiles joyfully, tilting his head a bit as if he's expecting some spectacular answer. _Of course_ Axel has never heard of Tantra. He shakes his head. “Let yourself be surprised then and expect to get very, very naked.” _Herrejösses_. Getting very, very naked is okay, but Axel really hates surprises.  
  
“After that we continue with our Weedy-Wednesday. We had to rename it, unfortunately, since the cops don't like Weed-Wednesdays. On this day, you can completely focus on showing your gratitude to Mother Earth. Lay on the ground, tickle some rocks or just enjoy rolling around on some freshly cut blades of grass. You can also just relax and smoke some weed as a tribute to the weekday – it's all up to you, friend.” It's almost heart-breaking how proud Keechie sounds when he talks about the weekly schedule of Destiny's Children. He's way too passionate about too many things. It's a bit concerning, honestly.  
  
“On Throwback-Thursday a lot of us gather around old pictures of family members, friends, lovers – everyone who is no longer around. We remember them and appreciate the good times and let me tell you, dear, it can be very healing to share memories of loved ones who are already gone ...” There's this knowing look on Keechie's face that makes Axel feel incredibly small. He suddenly wants to vanish. “However, you can also just come around so you don't have to be alone with everything that's on your mind. Can you believe that the Prophet was able to talk to the deceased? One time he –”  
“Keechie, enough of Throwback-Thursday.” Axel sighs. He doesn't want to share his memories with strangers.  
“Sorry,” Keechie mumbles quietly before he goes on, “The _F_ in F-Friday stands for anything that comes to your mind. Food-Friday, Frog-Friday, Funky-Friday, Fuck-Friday, and again: it's up to you. Use your imagination; listen to your heart when the _F_ is calling for you.”

Axel is not sure if he wants to know about Sexy-Saturday. He tries to stare with a blank expression at the poster. Is it already to late to say he's not able to understand a single word Keechie's saying?  
“Like the name already says, we're _very_ sexy on Sexy-Saturday. Put on some clothes that make you feel like a queen, slay that look, be proud of who you are –”  
  
Axel slowly takes a step back before he turns around without making a sound, the wanted blank expression finally back on his face now –  
He's not interested in being a queen and slaying looks, and he never was nor ever will be proud of himself. Especially not after he lost his brothers, one of them through his own bare hands.

“Don't follow,” he mumbles, already walking away.  
“What about Selfcare-Sunday?”, Keechie wants to know. Well, Selfcare-Sunday can pretty much suck his dick. The whole concept of Destiny's Children is utterly confusing to him. _All_ of this is messing with his head. He isn't even sure about whether he accidentally joined a cult or a long-term therapy session.  
  
Behind his back a metallic thing rattles down the chimney, ending up stucked in the ashes of the last witch burning or marshmellow-barbecue or whatever these people might set on fire. Axel recognizes the sound, feeling anger boiling up inside him. The Commission can suck his dick too. He walks over to the chimney and grabs the bronze-colored tube.

**THE SWEDE**

Another tube rattles through the chimney.

**THE SWEDE**

Another one.

**THE SWEDE**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you lots, you lovely people. ♥

There's this heavy iron poker next to the fireplace, and Axel grabs it. No second thoughts; it's like a switch that gets flipped, turning all the lights off in his head. The soft chatter of the people in the entrance hall and the unhurried steps of their feet strolling around the place fade away, disappearing under a buzzing noise, low and dull at first. The poker lies cold in his hand with its uneven surface, and as Axel raises his arm in just a matter of seconds, the buzzing in his ears gets replaced by a high-pitched tone. They need to stop already. The tubes must _stop_ rattling down the chimney. Now.  
  
His arm comes crashing down, and even though he's practically vibrating with rage, he doesn't miss.  
The tip of the poker strikes one of the tubes, tossing it through the ashes. It bumps against the other three with a metallic click, but the noise, his strident tone, in both his ears is far too loud. Right now, he's deaf and blind to anything around him but this plain address label, and between the numbness in his head and this heavy weight on his lungs he can feel the thing trapped in his rib cage lurking in one of the many dark corners, patiently waiting for its turn, teeth bared already.  
  
Another strike hits one of the tubes, leaving only some scratches on the metal, and Axel raises his arm over and over again until he's mindlessly flailing at the tubes in the fireplace. The last time he flailed at something like he is doing right now was in a root cellar back on Adelsön. He was twelve years old and angry and alone, which was the only acceptable reason for Axel to allow himself to _cry_ like some shitty baby. A shitty crybaby, which was swinging a stick that day, smashing bottles over bottles of juniper schnapps and stomping on hundreds of picked up shells in a rusted bathtub just to make sure to break every single one of them. Those were some of the few things their father left behind when he decided to vanish from one day to the next without any explanation. Home-made alcohol, cracked and eroded shells, and lots of _issues_. The mere thought of his father and what he did to Otto and Oscar by leaving them behind –  
  
Axel aims at the very first tube in front of him, his jaw pressed together so tightly, that he feels both rows of his teeth carving prints into the inner flesh of his lips, and then he just smashes the poker against one of the tubes again. The impact of the collision puts a slight dent in the metal, but it's still frustrating – none of them seem to break any time soon. Instead of just letting go, Axel tries and tries and tries again, the poker rising and crashing down.  
  
Until he _gets_ stopped.

He's just raised the poker above his head, the tip of it behind his back, somewhere on the level of his shoulder blades, and getting ready to start flailing at the tubes all over again, when the poker bumps into something bony and gets stuck there.  
_Heliga Maria, Guds moder –_ fuck _.  
  
_Axel hesitates for a moment; his head slowly starts to take up its work again since there's unfortunately the most likely chance he might have just killed someone by accident. Again. He doesn't dare to turn around because that would mean he has to face the bloody mess he created and he really doesn't want to face bloody messes anymore, that's over; so he just stands there, taking deep breaths through his nose, while squeezing his eyes for a second to sort his options out. The noise in his ears gets replaced by an overwhelming silence.

He could run. It's not too late for that. The door is close enough to disappear. He could hide somewhere in the woods until he dies of shame and hunger.

Or he could turn around now, bear the responsibility for his actions for once in his life and provide first aid or some other helpful stuff he'd probably screw up anyway.

A whimper of pain creeps up behind him, and then all of a sudden there are fingertips nudging his elbow as if  _he_ 's the one who needs reassurance. It's absurd. Instead of being relieved that this idiot sneaking up behind him is not as dead as he thought, Axel just gets very irritated. He glances hesitantly over his shoulder, and frowns when he sees Keechie standing behind him, eyes wide open and a little pale around the nose. His right shoulder droops down limply.

“Please put the poker away,” he says, teeth gritted but nonetheless trying to smile. It's just the corners of his mouth tightening, making a grimace out of his face, and Axel can't believe that this guy really keeps up his nice attitude towards _everyone_ even though he almost got his head smashed just a few moments ago. He's probably the kind of person that apologizes for getting bumped into by strangers in the street. Keechie points at the poker in Axel's hand, then at the tubes in the fireplace. “We'll find another way to get rid of them. Just stop.” 

Axel's eyes switch from Keechie to the poker in his hand, then back and forth, until he stares at the poker again, still unable to _think_ properly. He can't pocess Keechie's words, and even though the rage has gone, he feels like he doesn't have the capability of responding in an appropriate manner any time soon.  
“Du är som en hund,” Axel mumbles incoherently. It's the first thing that comes to his mind, and he blares it out just for the sake of saying anything _at all._ Then he drops the poker to the ground next to his feet. 

The entrance hall is almost empty now. It's just Keechie and him and this girl, Jill, standing near the door with an unwieldy flower vase in her hands and being on alert, obviously ready to do whatever it takes to prevent a mass murder.  
“What?” The fingertips on his elbow vanish and Keechie starts to rub his hurting shoulder just to stop with a pained hiss only seconds later. Axel pretends not to see the shimmering in his eyes.

“I said –” He holds his breath, focusing the poker on the floor instead of looking at Keechie. The words slip out of his mouth, and he regrets them instantly. But that's something he keeps to himself. “I said you getting hurt is your own fault.”

“But –” Keechie gets even paler, and when he starts struggling to find the right words, it's Jill going into action and speaking up, twisting the vase in her hands like she's about to throw it.  
“Would you mind listening to me for a minute, you egghead? You don't – don't move … or I won't hesitate to throw this vase! It's very heavy and it will probably hurt you. A lot. If it hits you, I mean. So –” She lifts the vase, lending weight to her words, while Axel is only half-heartily listening, even though he has to admit that she got him there for a second. No one has ever called him an egghead before, and he wonders if he really has similarities with an egg –  
But then there's Keechie, still trying to hide the pain. In the corner of his eye he catches him shifting his unharmed shoulder, eyes squeezing with every move, and he sets aside the egg-question for now. “We had to evacuate everyone in here because we really thought you would start a killing spree, and if it wasn't for Keechie and my aversion for violence, I would have thrown it already!”

“Oh, no no no, please don't throw it, Jill,” pleads Keechie, taking a few staggering steps toward her, before turning around again to face Axel. “You know, Jill has always been an extraordinary basketball player. She even got offered a scholarship before she dropped out of college to join Destiny's Children – that's how talented she is. She _never_ misses a field goal.”  
“Thank you, Keechie,” says Jill, smiling brightly.  
“Anytime.”

Axel hopes that he wakes up very soon because _this_ certainly can't be real. His gaze drifts from Keechie to Jill, and from Jill back to Keechie. He suddenly feels like a third wheel and he can't point a finger on the exact reason for it. Maybe he's still a bit dizzy.  
“Now, where were we?” Jill asks, clamping the vase under her arm like a ball. “I don't like the way you talk to my friend. It's very rude and disrespectful, and if you consider to stay with us, I'd like you to treat Keechie the same way he treats you. With respect and good intentions.”  
“Jill, don't be so hard on him. We don't know what he's been through.”  
“That doesn't give him the right to be so rude. I'm pretty sure your shoulder is broken because of him.”  
“I'm fine.”  
“You're not.” Jill raises her eyebrows.  
And all of a sudden Keechie starts sobbing quietly.  
“Maybe I'm not,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

Axel sharply inhales some air through his gritted teeth, watching the scenery with an expression of disbelief all over his face. This is like a play at the theatre, just a little more chaotic, and he's the spectator. Jill hurries through the entrance hall and stops at Keechie's side, pointing in Axel's direction then.  
“You,” she says warningly, “are part of the problem.”  
“He's not. It's just … Francis and his silly demands … and then the disappearance of the Prophet … it's a bit too much all at once ...”  
“And now your shoulder. Let me see.” Jill carefully slides the shirt away, exposing a slim collarbone under bruised skin speckled with red.  
“I really like this tough side of you.”  
“You do?” She giggles, tilting her head to examine the shoulder. Keechie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, before he sniffs miserably and wipes himself some tears from his face.  
“Yeah.”  
  
Axel knows now why he feels like a third wheel, and he wants to shake this feeling off. In an odd way, these two behave like friends, siblings and lovers all at the same time, and Axel's sure that he _never_ wants to find out the details of what's exactly going on between them. It might cause him having trouble sleeping, and he really doesn't mean it in an ambiguous way. 

“I'm afraid your collarbone is broken.” Jill sighs, and Axel can't even move an inch. His feet are stuck to the ground as if someone smeared glue all over his soles. “Under different circumstances I would recommend you to hug it out.”  
“He doesn't know what you're talking about. I haven't told him yet.”  
“We have an official hug-it-out-hour every Sunday,” Jill explains. “Forgiving each other and yourself is an essential part of self-care.”  
“But of course you can hug your problems out whenever you feel like it,” adds Keechie, and there's this sudden urge to grab the poker again. Axel won't hug the tubes, if that's what they are talking about. He's not an idiot.  
“I think it's better if he doesn't hug you, Keech. He'll probably squish your other shoulder too.”

 _Oh_. Now he gets it.  
And while he's at it again with the tubes and the confusion and all this stuff, something inside the chimney starts to rattle again, but this time it's just Axel staring at the fireplace, resignedly waiting for it to start all over again.


End file.
